Page 23 of A Christmas For Holly

“Bailey’s work is good.”

“You weren’t looking at Bailey’s stuff.”

“I was.”

He muttered something about idiot brothers, but I could tell he wouldn’t let the conversation drop. I sighed, thinking of Holly and the storm he’d left in his wake, the mess of feelings I couldn’t quite shake.

“Just… a lot on my mind,” I said, glancing out at the snow building up on the sidewalks, thinking of the kiss I couldn’t forget and the man who’d kissed me.

And the way he’d wanted a drink.

And the way I’d held him and helped him.

And…

This led me to head to Holly’s cabin after I negotiated a break with Callum, citing“important Bailey business”and saying I needed to check on Holly. It was incredible how mentioning our little brother’s name could easily sway Callum. I hadn’t even needed to get into details—just a casual nod to our cute, sweet little brother, and Callum was waving me off with a grin and offering to cover whatever hours I needed.

So now I was driving the winding road toward Holly’s place, snow crunching under my tires, the trees closing in on either side as the road narrowed. It was quiet up here, the sort of stillness that made you realize how far from everything you were. It felt strange to push myself into Holly’s space after everything that had happened, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed someone to check on him. And maybe I needed answers for myself, too.

As I approached the cabin, I could see the faint glow of light in one of the windows and smoke still curling from the chimney.

At least he’d figured out to keep the stove lit—that was something. I parked next to his car and headed up to the door, pausing momentarily before knocking. This was for Bailey and Kai, I reminded myself. Just a quick check-in—that was all. I wouldn’t stay long.

When Holly answered, I nearly lost my train of thought. He looked as if he’d rolled out of bed and hadn’t quite bothered to face the day yet. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and he was dressed in a worn Harriers T-shirt that looked like it had seen one too many winters, paired with a pair of soft gray pants. He was slumped, his shoulders rounded, a faint shadow under his eyes speaking of more than a few restless nights. He seemed smaller somehow, not the commanding presence I was used to seeing on the ice or in any room he walked into.

But his eyes—those sharp brown eyes I knew too well—were dull, tired, as though he’d spent days dragging himself through whatever storm he’d been hiding from everyone else. It was a stark contrast to the Holly I remembered from the wedding, all bravado and charm. This Holly looked as though he’d been hollowed out, as though he was barely holding himself together.

“Lucas?” His voice was rough, his brow creasing as he stared at me, clearly surprised. “What… what are you doing here?”

I reminded myself I was here for Bailey and Kai’s sake. “Just… checking in. Wanted to see how you were doing.”

“You did that yesterday.”

“Bailey is worried.”

Holly straightened, a bit of that familiar edge creeping into his posture. “I don’t know why.”

I didn’t have to say anything; I let my silence do the talking. He winced, glancing away for a second before sighing.

“Can I come in?”

“Huh?”

“Inside your house where it’s warm.”

“You want to come in?” he asked, shaking his head before widening the door and gesturing for me to go in, acting as if he already regretted saying yes.

I stepped inside and took in the cabin. Barely anything was unpacked. Holly’s luggage sat by the door, looking like they were dropped where he’d thrown them as he’d arrived. A duffel slouched open, clothes spilling out onto the floor, and a pair of shoes lay next to it, one on its side.

I hadn’t checked out the cabin properly yesterday. It was simple and a bit old-fashioned, but it was cozy enough, and now he had the stove lit. There was a small couch, a few chairs, and a coffee table with a lone water glass, condensation pooling at the base. The faint smell of wood smoke lingered, mixing with the cold draft from outside, but there were no signs of him settling in. Was he going to be living like this for three months?

It was the place of someone passing through, not someone who planned to stay. And somehow, it felt exactly like Holly—unmoored, as if he didn’t know where he belonged.

“I’ll get your luggage upstairs,” I announced and stuffed everything back in the backs, and before he could argue, I climbed the ladder stairs to the loft.

“I could have done that,” he protested from the bottom of the stairs.

“But you didn’t,” I muttered, stopping and staring at the large bed. “I can unpack for you if you like.”

---